


Sam Ran Away

by GlassRoom



Series: Ficlets [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean left behind, Emotional Abuse, Gen, Sam ran away, Teenagers, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 14:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6427804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassRoom/pseuds/GlassRoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam runs away on Dean's watch, this is what happens to Dean as a result. Takes place during the flashback of 5x16 Dark Side of the Moon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam Ran Away

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: underage drinking/drinking to soothe

Dean looked around the room. “Is this Flagstaff?”

Sam grinned ear to ear. “Yeah,” he said as he pet a dog.

“This is a good memory for you?” Dean asked in disbelief.

Sam laughed. “Yeah, I mean, I was on my own for two weeks. I lived on Funyuns and Mr. Pibb.”

“Wow,” Den uttered, completely unimpressed.

“What?” Sam's hand hesitated on the dog.

“Well, you don't remember, do you? You ran away on my watch. I looked everywhere for you. I thought you were dead. And when Dad came home....” Dean looked away from his brother, not wanting him to see how upset he was.

Sam looks guiltily at the dog. “Dean, look, I'm sorry. I never thought about it like that.”

**

Dean was terrified. For the last hour he'd been trying to figure out what, exactly, he was going to tell Dad. 

The message from the front desk was a creased mess on the table. Dean had twisted it, sweated into it, torn it, folded it, smoothed it out, and eventually left it on the table where it stared up at him accusingly. _'How about a movie around six?'_ Code for _'I'll be home around six'._ One hour to go. If he hadn't already used the toilet, Dean was sure he'd piss himself.

He had looked everywhere. Literally, everywhere. Any place Sam could be. Any place Sam would want to be. Any place Sam might not go. Any place Sam would never go. Everywhere. And still no Sam.

An hour ago he called the hospitals asking if any John Doe young teenagers had been brought in. No luck there. Same with the morgue. 

Not for the first time, Dean rushed to the bathroom as his stomach rebelled. Kneeling beside the bowl he dry heaved violently. Dean felt his face crumple as he tried to hold back the tears. No luck there either. He gave in to the the wracking sobs, snot and spit stringing off of him into the water.

_Get a grip, get a grip, get a grip, get a grip_ , he chanted as he used the one-step-away-from-cardboard toilet paper to clean his face and blow his nose. With a flush, the evidence of his weakness is gone. A quick cold wash of his face and he felt he could face Dad. Almost. Maybe.

The crunch of gravel in front of the motel shattered any peace Dean might have had. His bowels filled with ice at the familiar creak of the Impala's door. His lungs stopped working when the motel room door opened. 

“Boys?” came a gruff sound from the other room.

_I'm gonna die._ “Hey Dad,” Dean left the bathroom to face his dad. The greasy smell of Chinese takeout followed his dad around. 

John set his duffel on the floor and the sack of food on the table, tossing the front desk message into the garbage bin. “Where's your brother?” John asked as he pulled food from the bag.

Dean was at a complete loss. _I have no fucking clue_ is not an answer, he knew that. “I don't know,” he finally mumbled.

John froze, one hand holding the bag open, one hand on top of a carton on the table. “What did you just say,” he warned, slowly moving his head to face Dean.

_Oh god. This is how I die._ Dean tried to take a deep breath. “I don't know.” Better to wait to tell him more, he thought. The pattern in the carpet held his interest like it would reveal the secrets to the universe.

“How long.” John's voice was colder than the ice in Dean's belly.

Dean became aware he was shaking. _All or nothing,_ he thought. “A couple days.”

“A...” John crossed the room as if he could fly. Standing directly in front of Dean he growled, “tell. me. _everything.”_

Dean opened his mouth and was sure he was going to vomit. He gulped in some air instead. “I woke up-”

“Look at me!” John raged.

Dean whipped his head up to look his dad in the eye. “I woke up and he was gone.” He could not keep the tremble from his voice. Dean cringed as he watched the expressions play out on his dad's face.

“Your brother has been gone a couple of days,” John started, his voice low and even. He paced away from Dean. “You couldn't even do one simple task of making sure he's ok. No, instead you somehow screwed this up.” John rubbed his face with one hand. “Completely useless, that's what you are. Can't even babysit.” John was getting louder. “You've been wanting a gun. Why should I trust you with a gun? What, you think you can handle a _gun_ but you can't even handle watching over your _brother._ Your _little_ brother.” He took advantage of Dean's flinching. “Your little, _innocent,_ brother. You even think about what could have happened to him? Bet you didn't. Some horrible monster probably got him. Feel better? You feel better knowing a monster got your little brother? _Answer me!”_ John bellowed.

“No sir,” Dean squeaked. _Sam's gotta be fine, he's gotta._

“I thought you were better than this. I thought I could trust you. Well _thank you_ for showing me the real you,” John's voice dripped with condescension. “Worthless. Absolutely worthless. Supposed to be a hunter, instead you are _nothing,”_ John muttered.

Dean struggled not to cry. “Dad...I didn't-”

“Didn't what!? Didn't keep an _eye_ on him? Didn't _watch_ him? Didn't want him to _live?_ Didn't _think?_ Well? Didn't _WHAT?”_

Tears leaked out of one eye as Dean tried to find words. “I didn't know, Dad, it was night and-”

“Oh, it was _night._ I guess you need your _beauty sleep_ more than you need your _brother._ A good hunter sleeps lightly. I thought I taught you that. Guess it wasn't important enough to remember.” John spat out as he turned away and went back to the table.

“Dad..”

“Get out,” John commanded coldly.

“Wh-Dad, I-” Panic spread through his organs.

“Go look for your brother,” John demanded without looking away from the food.

Dean stood for a second, trying to get his bearings. When it was obvious his dad was not going to continue, Dean left.

*

Not having any idea where to go, he searched the same places as before with the same luck as before. After a few hours he was starving, cold, had to pee, and on the verge of crying like a baby. One item was easy enough to take care of, he found a dark alley and relieved himself. He could hear music was coming from the building he was decorating. _Must be a bar,_ he thought. And the idea came to him – a bar. He hadn't checked any bars. Sammy wasn't old enough...but maybe?

Dean entered the bar and tried to take it all in at once. The loud music, the gruff voices, the shrill voices, the stink of cigarettes and booze, the underlying stink of puke and piss. One good look around and it was clear his fresh-faced little brother was not here. He spotted peanuts on the bar so he sidled up to it and grabbed a handful. When he turned around he ran right into a brick shithouse of a man.

“Well well well. What have we here? Aren't you a cutie.” The shithouse taunted. His friends laughed as they surrounded Dean, crowding him into the bar.

“Lookit those pretty bow legs. Make it easier to wrap around me,” said Mullet. 

“Naw man. Those lips. They'd be great on my cock,” said Giant Beer Belly.

Dean cringed inside but stood taller.

“Billy, you git now,” came a tired voice that sounded like sandpaper. Dean spun around to see the bartender, an older lady with over-bleached hair, heavy makeup, and a torn shirt that barely covered her large chest. He turned back to see the big guy smirk.

“Not worth the effort anyway,” Shithouse made sure to crawl his eyes up and down Dean's frame before clapping Mullet on the shoulder and turning away. “Got better things to do.”

“Whaddaya want here anyway pretty boy,” the bartender deadpanned. 

Dean turned back. “Uh, my brother. I'm looking for my brother.” He tried to keep his eyes off her swinging, heavy chest as she wiped the counter. 

“He older'n you?” she asked without looking up.

“No, younger.”

“Well then he ain't here. So geddout. Can't have the cops closing me down for your twink ass.” She glanced up and made a shooing motion with her hands until Dean made to leave.

As soon as he cleared the bar he found a bus station bench so he could sit and eat the peanuts he'd grabbed. Water would be good too, he thought, eyeing a convenience store across the street. He checked his pockets and found no money for a drink. Something nagged at him but he was far too tired to figure it out. Thinking of the uncomfortable bed he walked back to the motel slowly, looking for Sam the whole time. He arrived empty handed, no brother. _Please let Dad be asleep,_ he prayed as he slipped the key in the lock.

His prayers were answered, John was asleep on the bed closest to the door. Dean slunk over to the other bed as quietly as he could, managing to not wake his dad. Or at least, his dad's breathing didn't change as far as he could tell. Not bothering to get undressed he lifted the cover and slipped into bed, boots and all. He made sure to sleep on the far side of the bed to leave room for Sam, just in case. Sleep did not come easily.

*

Dean woke up to the sound of the shower running. A brief check of the room told Dean that Sam had not come home in the middle of the night. _Dammit Sammy_ he thought, flicking the cover off of him. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up while he tried to figure out a game plan for the day. It wasn't until the water turned off in the bathroom that he realized he'd been staring at his boots without a single thought. Might as well shower, came the only coherent sentence in his head. He reached down to unlace his boots when his dad came out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam. _Oh great, probably no hot water either._ “Dad?” No response. Dean cleared his throat and tried again with the same result. He toed off his boots watching his dad get dressed out of the corner of his eye. “I'm gonna shower,” he sort of asked his dad. When he got no response, he left the bedroom.

Yep, no hot water. In the time it took Dean to quickly soap up and rinse off his water went from chilly to downright freezing. _At least I'm fully awake now,_ he thought. The rest of his morning routine was rushed. He was hoping that maybe his dad would have some ideas of where to look for Sam. Maybe somewhere he hadn't thought of or somewhere Sam might have mentioned to Dad instead of Dean. When he got out of the bathroom, the motel room was empty.

_Maybe Dad's getting breakfast, maybe those McMuffins,_ he thought as he towelled off and dressed. Just to keep on his dad's good side, he made sure to put his dirty clothes in a neat pile for laundry day and keep his toiletries organized. He was lacing up his boots when his dad came back with a sack of food. 

“Breakfast, awesome!” Dean moved to the table and sat down across from his dad. He tried to cover his disappointment when he saw there was only food for one in front of his dad. “So Dad,” he tried, “do you have any ideas about where Sam would go?” Dean watched his dad chew, swallow, bite, chew. “I've looked everywhere, did he say anything to you? Anything about where he'd go?” His dad slurped his coffee and took another bite of food. “Fine. Whatever.” Dean grabbed his room key. “I'll just go,” he hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. John took a gulp of orange juice. _Fuck it._ Dean slammed the door on the way out.

_Cheap food! That's what was bugging me last night. Sam had to eat, maybe he'd gone to a convenience store for cheap food._ Dean spent the day going to as many as he could find. Clerk after clerk had no information about Sam. Most of them admitted that they don't pay any attention to teenagers at the store unless they stood out. At least Dean managed to grab food over the course of the day. He found that when he smiled just right at the female clerks they wouldn't see his hand palming the chocolate bar or small bags of nuts. Twice he even hid water bottles up his sleeve while he waited to interview the clerk. After an exhausting day, he stumbled back to the motel room. Again, long after John had gone to bed. Still somewhat hungry he looked around the room for food but found none. John had even emptied the garbage.

*

Dean spent a few days like this, trying to find any trace of his brother and coming up empty every damn time. Dad had not said a single word to him since that first night. Not even a grunt or a glance in his direction. One day, in hopes of getting his dad on his good side, he shoplifted a six pack for him. John drank it, but didn't acknowledge where it had come from. Today he realized his dad had done the laundry. All of his dad's clothes were folded neatly in his duffel, Dean's were in the pile where he'd left them, still dirty. That's when he took his dad's knife.

The teens were easy to scare. Dean knew that every town had a rich neighbourhood, which meant a rich school. He found it easily enough. The idiot rich kids hanging out pretending to be tough were easy enough to find as well. Taking their money at knife point gave him only a flash of guilt. They had more from their rich daddies.

He knew food should be on the top of the agenda, but he discovered a liquor store that didn't card him when he set a bottle of whisky and a six pack on the counter. Money speaks volumes I guess, he thought. That night he didn't bother to go back to the motel. As the evening turned to night, Dean found an empty field and drank his supper. _Dad won't miss me anyway. He doesn't give a fuck about me. Only cares about Sam. Special fabulous young Sam. God forbid anything happen to the stupid little guy. Fuck him. Fuck this. Fuck Sam. Fuck Dad. Fuck everything._ Dean may have been screaming. He may have just thought it all. It didn't matter.

*

He woke the next morning in more pain than he ever thought was possible. Gingerly, he massaged his head to find the site of the injury. When he found none he groaned out loud. The vibration of his noise made his teeth itch and scalp tighten. Very carefully he rolled over, intending to push himself up on all fours. Instead he rolled over into a puddle of puke, making him sit up sharply, which in turn made him throw up. Again, apparently. _Fuck me._ He decided moving was too much work. _Sleep is better._ He passed out again.

When Dean woke the second time, the sun was low on the horizon. Remembering the torture of waking the first time, he took things very slowly. He had to piss like a racehorse, something had died in his mouth, and his body felt like it had been hit with a truck. _One thing at a time,_ he thought as he got himself to standing. He added urine to the dried upchuck, shook himself off, and started to get back to the motel. 

By the time he rounded the corner to the motel the sun had almost dipped completely away. Unfathomable relief coursed through him at the sight of the Impala. _Dad didn't leave,_ he thought fleetingly before slamming that feeling away. _Of course Dad wouldn't leave, of course he would wait for me. Of course._ It almost sounded true. Steeling himself for the inevitable fight he forced the key in the lock and opened the door. Nobody was there. John's stuff was right where he'd left it, so was Dean's. He exhaled, unaware he'd been holding his breath, and went directly to the bathroom. For once he was grateful his dad would sometimes find a bar and spend most of the night in it.

When he got undressed he fumbled in his pocket for the odd bulge and was only a little surprised to find the wad of money he'd stolen. Ok, robbed. Whatever. He stumbled into the shower and cleaned every square inch of skin twice, including brushing his teeth under the spray. Feeling reasonably human again he dried off and got dressed in the last of his clean clothes. _Fuck this._ He dug in his dad's duffel for the net laundry bag, found it, filled it with all of his clothes, stuffed his money in his pocket, and went to the front desk.

“Hey,” Dean did his best to beam happily at the lady behind the desk. “Can you tell me where the nearest laundromat is?” He even fluttered his eyelashes at her.

“Aw sweetie, it's only two blocks down the road that way,” she pointed. “Got a big load there huh?” She leaned forward slightly, pressing her elbows to her sides.

“Yeah, you know how it is,” Dean glanced appreciatively at her cleavage. “Thanks.” He gave her a little wink and left.

The laundromat was blissfully empty. He made change, bought the little packets of soap, got the laundry going, then eyed the vending machines. Nothing looked good, but it was available. Coke to settle his stomach and Funyons because they reminded him of Sam.

With his clothes clean, dry, and folded he went back to the motel. Still no dad. Good. He counted out his money and found he actually had enough to eat a real meal. Well, fast food, but still. He left and headed for the nearest McDonald's. 

*

A few days later he was back in the field with a case of beer. The plan was to get whisky too, but his stomach rolled horribly when he saw the bottle. Beer won out. A case this time. Alone, in the field, he drank his supper again. This time checking his pocket for his bus ticket every few minutes. _Fuck everybody._

* 

Before leaving town, Dean made a point of checking the hospitals again, just in case. Same result. Dean didn't know whether he should be disappointed or happy.

*

Sitting at the bus stop he watched the passengers and wondered how many were monsters. _Stupid happy families with smiling ignorant children. Ridiculous couples making out in the last few minutes before boarding. Single, successful looking men in nice clothes going home to people they love._ Dean's head felt too heavy after a while so he dropped it and stared at the duffel between his feet. He didn't board the bus.

*

Dean went back to the motel, angry at himself for not leaving. He threw his bag against the wall near his bed, hoping to get a rise out of his dad who was reading a newspaper at the table. Nothing. _Fine._ He checked the mini fridge and found beer. _Fine._ Making sure to stand directly in John's path he cracked open the beer. No response. _Fine._ He drank it in one go and flung the bottle at the fridge door. It shattered, brown glass scattering everywhere. John didn't even flinch. 

_“I'm right the fuck here!”_ Dean screamed.

John stood up, grabbed his coat, took his key, and left.

Dean helped himself to the rest of the beer, cleaning up the shards of the broken one so his dad wouldn't cut himself when he got back. He was sure his face was wet from sweating. Nothing else. Just sweat stinging his eyes.

*

Dean hadn't moved off the bed in hours. For the first little bit he would try to swivel his head when he heard his dad move around. After a while even that became too much effort. Curled in fetal position he stared at the wall, breathing and blinking. His mind could not comprehend the decision that lay before him. If Sam was dead, and he surely was by now, then Dean could either continue on with his dad...or leave. His dad hadn't spoken at all. Hadn't even noticed Dean when Dean stood directly in front of him. Dean could wear a wedding gown and stand on the table and his dad wouldn't even bat an eyelash. But to be on his own...that was...where would he go? What could he do? He was trained in nothing. He was a dropout. He had no skills. He was nothing. So he breathed and blinked.

*

The sound at the door was unfamiliar to Dean, shocking him out of his continuous thought loop – _stay go stay go stay go._ He leaped up grabbing his knife from under the pillow. He may not know much, but he could defend himself in a heartbeat. His dad taught him that.

John cautiously went to the window to peek out. His entire body language changed at whatever he saw outside, the room became charged with energy. John whipped the door open. “Sam!” 

Dean watched as their dad embraced Sam in a bear hug. The fury that boiled inside Dean mixed with the tsunami of relief.

“Dean look! It's Sam!” John shouted with a smile, releasing Sam from the hug. “Where were you? We were worried, you scared us. What the hell were you thinking, leaving like that?”

Sam looked over at Dean. _He looks well fucking rested,_ Dean thought and quickly smashed everything down inside him. “Hey Sammy,” was all he could manage with a weak smile.

“Sam, set your stuff down. Dean and I were just heading out for dinner, come on. There's a pizza joint down the block.” John didn't wait for Sam, he took Sam's bag and tossed it to Dean. “Here, put this by yours,” he said to Dean over his shoulder.

The bag almost slammed Dean in the face. He caught it and set it down gently, along with his knife. “Dad, how about burgers instead?” Dean asked cautiously before his throat could close up completely.

“Yeah, sure, burgers it is. Ok with you Sam?” John threw and arm around Sam's shoulder.

“Burgers are good,” Sam said with a shrug. Dean followed the pair out the door, making sure to grab his room key on the way out, just in case his dad forgot his.


End file.
